Through the Looking Glass
by castiels-shock-blanket
Summary: Sherlock goes missing, and the only clue as to where is a dog-eared copy of some book that John has never read. "Through the Looking Glass." While dealing with an angry client, John must endeavor to find Sherlock. Preferably quickly, because he wasn't sure what kind of trouble Sherlock was in, or what kind of trouble he would end up in if he didn't please this client.


**March 13th:**

For a change, everything was quiet when I back into the flat. I dropped the bags of groceries on the kitchen counter, and peered into the other. room. Sherlock was no where to be seen. Not in his usual spot on the sofa, nor in the window playing violin obnoxiously. It was half past thirteen(that's one, sorry!) But I still assumed that Sherlock was asleep in bed. As he had said to me the other day: "Sleep is a concern of the body, not the clock, John." It is weird, for some reason, just typing that, I could hear his voice in my head.

I was considering what time Sherlock had gone to bed, he had been practicing the violin at five a.m, when there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson was out, so I went to answer the door. A girl stood there, probably about in her mid-twenties. She was blonde, and wore a light blue dress. I was sure Sherlock would be able to tell much more than that, but that was as far as I could see. Anyway, she introduced herself as Alice Kingsley, and said she was there to see Sherlock. I nodded, and led her up the stairs. Once she was seated on the sofa, I went to Sherlock's room to wake him up.

Only, when I got there, Sherlock was gone. That didn't make sense, he rarely left when he didn't have a case. Unless he hadn't told me, he didn't have a case that day. Confused, I took another step into the room. That familiar wool coat and blue scarf were still there, and, upon further inspection, so was Sherlock's phone. Peculiar, Sherlock never left behind his phone. You can imagine, then, that I was beginning to grow concerned. I continued to glance about the room, noticing a paperback book on the mattress. I picked it up, and started out of of the room. I had only just remembered that Alice was waiting for Sherlock.

Glancing at the book as I walked, I read the title. _Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Caroll. _I didn't really know why, still don't actually, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Sherlock had left it for me as a clue. It was a perfectly Sherlock thing to do; leave without a word, and offer nothing but a dog-eared book as a clue. I was certain he would laugh when he got back, because I wouldn't have figured it out by then. The bloody git. I was half right, it was a clue. But not from Sherlock.

"Sorry, it looks like Sherlock's out." I said absent-mindedly, flipping through the pages of the book. I imagine Alice made some sort of remark, but I couldn't hear her. It took me a second flip through the worn pages, but something caught my attention. It was on the dedications page of the book. A very neat sort of writing was written in the bottom corner of the page. "Hang on, what's this..." I murmured to myself.

"What's what?" Asked Alice, half rising from the sofa.

I didn't answer, I was too busy reading the writing on the page. Here's what it said:

_In events that shall come to pass,  
__Your best option is to closely look,  
__Look through the looking glass. _

_Should you find your way to the glass through which I suggest you look, you shall find the clues for the answer to which you seek. It would be best that you do so quickly as you can, Sherlock is waiting after all. _

My first thought was that this was absolute rubbish. The notion that this was a clue from Sherlock vanished, because he didn't refer to himself in third person. That, and he complained loudly whenever anything rhymed. But, since it alluded to Sherlock being missing, I began to grow very nervous. Sherlock was in trouble, as was obvious from this book. But what kind of trouble, and what did this note mean?

A voice startled me from my thoughts. "Look through the looking glass?" Alice was asking skeptically. She had, apparently, been reading over my shoulder. "What absolute rubbish. I don't suppose I will be having the fortune to ask Mr. Holmes's advice then, will I?" She asked furiously. I didn't say anything, just let her storm out of the flat. Normally I might have stopped her, Sherlock wouldn't be happy about losing a case. But Sherlock wasn't here, and he was in trouble. I had to find him.

"Through the looking glass..." I repeated, flipping the book over in my hands. The most nerve wracking thing was that Sherlock would have known immediately what that meant. But what in bloody hell was I supposed to make of that? I'm not the only consulting detective in the world, this just didn't make sense to me.

I paced back and forth for some time, trying to figure this hint out. Then it struck me. A magnifying glass! That had to be what it meant by looking glass. Sherlock's magnifying glass must have some clue to all this. (Sherlock, my genius better earn me some points.) But Sherlock's magnifying glass was always safely tucked away in his pocket. It must not be then, or that wouldn't be much help. Not wasting any time, I bolted back to Sherlock's room.

The glass was no where to be seen, of course. I must have looked about for fifteen minutes, and was just about to decide I'd been wrong and rethink it all, when I spotted it. It was right on the window sill, sitting in plain sight. _There is nothing more illusive than an obvious fact. _Sherlock had said the last time I lost something in plain sight.

Ignoring the resounding voice in my head, I made my way to the window sill. Just great, more puzzles. All the magnifying glass showed me was a tiny arrow, painted onto the sill using green paint of sorts. Dammit, Sherlock! How was I supposed to process that?

I'm going to leave you all hanging on what happened next, it adds suspense.


End file.
